Tacky Negligence
by Cinlat
Summary: Things hadn't quite gone as planned since Aric Jorgan took charge of that op on Ord Mantell. This was just one more thing to add to the growing list of humiliating experiences he'd suffered in the presence of Lieutenant Fynta Wolfe.


**Author's Note:** This is a one shot inspired by the complaints that followed when I yanked a Band-Aid off someone, instead of being "gentle". Of course, that got me thinking about how awful if would have been had there been fur involved. So, I hope you enjoy this little bit of nonsense. I certainly did.

Written in a day just for fun.

Story timeline: Somewhere between Taris and Alderaan in Act 1.

* * *

 **3643 BBY  
** **Coruscant Spaceport  
** **The Thunderclap**

Jorgan stood in Fynta's room in nothing but his shorts and an undershirt. The Cathar swore as Fynta tugged on the fabric that covered his thigh. "Be careful with that," he growled, breath hitching.

"Stop being such a baby," Fynta teased from where she knelt before him. Jorgan rumbled a warning in his throat as she reached for him again, which only served to amuse her more. Fynta's fingers closed around the material, and she grinned up at him. "Ready?" Taking a deep breath, the Cathar grasped the desk in her room, then nodded his preparedness.

Closing his eyes, Jorgan waited in nervous anticipation for Fynta to make her move. When she finally did, he couldn't stop the shout that tore through him. When he opened his eyes again, Fynta was still grinning, holding a piece of tape that had a lot of his fur attached to it. The lieutenant looked at it, then leaned closer than he'd like to examine where his leg still stung.

Taking a steadying breath, Jorgan grumbled. "What kind of idiot puts adhesive bandages on a Cathar?"

Fynta leaned back and sighed. "Well, the guy admitted to having never treated Cathar before." Jorgan snarled in annoyance, and Fynta held up her hands. "Foerost doesn't get many visitors, they are mostly human. Next time, don't mess with unexploded ordnance."

Jorgan answered with a dramatic eye roll. "I wasn't the one who touched the damn thing."

"Oh, right," Fynta said with a smile as she tapped a finger against her chin. Jorgan sighed, at least she hadn't made any inappropriate comments about his state of undress. _Yet._

The lieutenant slapped her hands on her thighs and pushed up, still examining the tan hair on the adhesive strip. "This isn't working, we need to try something else."

"Wish Dorne were here," Jorgan muttered as Fynta disappeared into the main room. Foerost was supposed to be a simple mission, something the two of them could handle while the medic was in a class on Coruscant. The mission had been easy enough. It was landing on a rusted pile of ship parts that had put Jorgan in his current predicament. That dud bomb turned out to be not as dead as they'd thought. The armor had held up, except for a small sliver that found its way between two joints and into Jorgan's leg.

The Cathar flopped into the desk chair, and ran a finger over the thin line of bare skin midway up his thigh. To her credit, Fynta had tried removing the bandages gently at first, then they'd decided maybe it would be better to rip the damn things off. Unfortunately, the injured area was dangerously close to some highly sensitive skin. So, maybe he was being a baby.

Fynta returned with a pair of scissors, snipping them playfully, while Jorgan ground his teeth at the sound of metal scraping metal. "Up and at'em, soldier," she said, motioning for him to stand.

Jorgan grumbled behind clenched teeth as she took her place on the floor again. He knew the thoughts running through her mind just by the smirk on her face, even if she didn't give voice to them. The Cathar grabbed her wrist as she lifted the shears against his leg. "Be. Careful."

Again, the lieutenant flashed a cheeky grin. "Trust me," she purred, patting his other leg. Jorgan released her, and Fynta set about the task of gliding the edge of the blade down his thigh, while he remained absolutely motionless.

It took almost an hour, and a lot more swearing on both of their parts, to finally remove the rest of the wrapping. The doctor had been thorough, wrapping the wound five times. Even Fynta had been over the ordeal by the end, apologizing as more fur was ripped painfully from his leg. Finally, Jorgan threw himself in the chair again to examine the damage.

"I'm sure it will grow back," Fynta assured him with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I wouldn't suggest strutting around the ship naked any time soon, though."

"Ha, ha, ha," Jorgan replied, still glaring at the bald patches and inflamed skin on his leg. Running both hands down his face, the Cathar silently cursed himself for not realizing sooner what the doctor was doing. He'd just finished cleaning his weapons and armor, and begun getting into his fatigues, when Jorgan figured out that the bandages wouldn't budge. Then, he'd been forced to seek out Fynta's aid, adding this to the growing list of humiliating experiences he'd suffered in the presence of Lieutenant Fynta Wolfe. She'd had a good laugh, until she too observed just how well the glue was holding.

The hiss from the airlock brought Jorgan out from behind his hands. "Sir, I've returned," Elara called. "It was a fascinating lecture, I learned quite a b— oh my."

Dorne stopped with one hand on the doorframe and simply stared at Jorgan, who realized he was still sitting in Fynta's room in his underwear. Her eyes traveled from him, to the pile of discarded bandages on the floor, then to Jorgan's leg. "What happened?"

Before he could protest, Elara was on her knees, cold fingers on his bare skin. Normally, the temperature of her hands wouldn't have been a problem, except he no longer had the protective layer of fur to lessen the shock. Jorgan jumped.

"Sorry, Jorgan," Elara said without looking up. She prodded at his wound, now no more than a red line stretching from just below his groin to mid-thigh. Yet, it somehow didn't have the same unnerving effect on the Cathar as when it had been Fynta. Jorgan attributed that to the fact that Elara was a professional physician, and Fynta was, well, _Fynta_.

"He got a scrape down on Foerost, and the doctor used the wrong kind of bandages," the lieutenant explained, arms crossed while she leaned against the door.

The medic cast a sympathetic glance at Jorgan. "Oh, how awful." She sat back, brows furrowed, and looked back at Fynta. "Why didn't you use the dissolvent in the medbay?"

A look passed between Fynta and Jorgan, and the lieutenant's expression morphed into one of complete shock as she took a step back. "The what?"

Before Dorne could answer, Jorgan snarled, grabbing the closest thing to him, and hurled it at his commanding officer. She ducked out with a shouted apology as the boot sailed into the main room. Jorgan would apologize for that later. Maybe.


End file.
